


Her Eyes

by lanyon



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle Earth - Tolkien
Genre: AU/Future, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Dagor Dagorath inches closer, the Elves of the First Age are released from Mandos to live amongst Mortals again. Some do it better than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thehandsoftime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehandsoftime/gifts).



_ATHRABETH FINROD AH AEGNOR  
Of Life and the Children of Eru_

"Mortals are excruciatingly stupid."

"Come now, Turco. Don't hold back. Please, speak your mind."

Celegorm shoots Maedhros a most un-Quendë-like glare, followed swiftly by a crude (and very mortal) gesture. Impatiently, he strides towards the window, looking down over a city of glimmering, flickering lights. "The world is ending and Immortals walk amongst them and they do not appear to have noticed."

\--

The Fëanorians look down from on high but Celegorm's truth can not be denied. The Dagor Dagorath has come, a lumbering, black beast whose presence oozes up between the paving slabs and children won't step on the cracks. The Halls of Mandos are mostly empty, except for the insane or the irredeemable (though even Fëanor will have his day). Every Quendë, late and living, is willingly exiled, in the hope that their pure hearts will guide those poor mortals through these troubling times.

These Quendi are not all armed, although the former marchwardens of Doriath are fond of semi-automatic handguns and Caranthir finds the current weapons trade to be delightfully entertaining. Most Quendi struggle to exist (not all are so enterprising as that awkward middle child of Fëanáro) and some struggle so much that they flounder.

There are some, however, who relish that company of mortals. These are the Quendi who sit in coffeeshops and watch the world go by, while their coffee gets cold or their soda gets warm.

"I wish you would not let him drink that," sighs Aegnor, casting Finrod a rather stern expression. "He becomes quite unmanageable."

"But he likes it," says kind-hearted Finrod, reaching to rub Orodreth's back. Finrod will say Orodreth is not happy, that he is not suited to this day and age. Aegnor and Angrod will say that he is quite mad.

Orodreth smiles vaguely, as though he is not crushed by guilt, and sips his soda. "It's diet," he offers.

Aegnor sighs crossly and twists in his seat. "Do you think she is working today?"

"You tell me," Finrod says as Orodreth takes his hand and examines it closely. "I thought you had memorised her work schedule."

"I _hope_ she is working today."

Finrod looks at his brother closely for a moment before he gently extricates his hand from Orodreth's grasp. "You are quite certain that it is-?"

Aegnor groans. "No. I'm not certain at all. It's simply that this woman, this girl – Eru, I cannot tell how old she is – is the very image of –" He trails off.

"Andreth," supplies Orodreth helpfully (and with unexpected clarity). "You had a ring, Findaráto. Did you give it away?"

Finrod picks up a newspaper the next table and sighs, preparing to be scandalised by how many news stories are directly concerned with the antics of the returned Quendi.

Almost immediately, he is disturbed by Aegnor prodding a finger at the back page. "Eru! Is that? That's our cousin!"

Finrod turns to the back page and instantly regrets it.

"She looks like a woman of loose virtue," remarks Orodreth. "She'll catch her death in those clothes."

"I think her preferred term is 'glamour model'," says Finrod. He folds over the paper so that he does not have to look at the distressing image of his scantily-clad cousin. He suspects that Aredhel has turned to modelling because of the bright lights and camera flashes (the better to chase away the shadows of Nan Elmoth).

Aegnor drums his fingers on the table and stares in the direction of the door.

"You cannot entice her here by force of thought alone."

"I should be able to," Aegnor says petulantly.

"We can come back tomorrow," Finrod begins. "No, of course, we'll wait," he adds with all due haste.

"You think it's unlikely, don't you?"

"Well, it is just ... I have not heard of mortals returning to life. That is all."

"Beren did," says Aegnor instantly. He has been thinking about this. "And do we really know what happens to mortals after they die? We know that they don't come to our Halls of Mandos but perhaps they go somewhere else?"

Aegnor's expression is so hopeful that Finrod feels obliged to respond. "I suppose that is logical," he says slowly. He smiles and it is a wistful smile. "Andreth did not approve of a final death. She felt that it was quite the slight against mortals. It would not surprise me in the least if she found a way around it."

"She was very stubborn," says Aegnor. "I think it makes sense, though, that mortals should have another chance. This shower are useless!" He gestures, to encompass the coffeeshop, the street and the whole world outside. "They'll never survive the Dagorath. They need their heroes too!"

Finrod does not like to say that no one is expected to survive the Dagorath but he has never been able to ruin his brothers' happiness.

A waitress comes over; her name-tag, complete with smiling face, proclaims her name to be Cindy. She refills their coffee mugs and Finrod resigns himself to a long afternoon and a sleepless night.

"What has changed, Aikanáro?" he asks.

Aegnor frowns.

"Even if this girl is Andreth, we can only assume that she is still mortal. That which divided you before, still divides you. We are still at war. Would you bring children into this world?"

"I had not thought about children quite so soon," says Aegnor sharply. "I had thought to start with a cup of coffee and we might take it from there." He grimaces and holds up a hand. "I'm sorry. It is just that I think I have done rather badly by Andreth."

Finrod arches an eyebrow, as if to say that Aegnor has stated nothing new.

"We hear about these mortal heroes and the Elvish women who followed them into oblivion and I wonder if I cheated Andreth out of some great Doom. She might have been a hero too." Aegnor sighs and he plucks a packet of sugar out of the bowl in the centre of the table. Methodically, he begins to rip it up and sugar spills over his fingertips. Orodreth watches him, fascinated. "Oh, I know. We were never destined to unite bloodlines or beget more heroes but if I still love her, I think she must still exist." Aegnor thumps his closed fist to his chest and Orodreth jumps. Aegnor's smile is crooked. "I just didn't have the grace to dwindle and fade, did I?"

Finrod laughs at that. "You were too blood-thirsty for that. You and Ambaráto were warriors born." He rests his chin on his hand. "Well. Tell me more about this girl."

Aegnor lights up (he has ever been a beacon). "She's tall and her hair is long and brown. Well, sort of red? Well, mostly brown. It's in her eyes, though, Finrod. There's something there. I remember when I first met her. In the First Age, I mean." He ducks his head, a little embarrassed. "I thought she was one of the First Born. It was in her eyes. She knew so much and she was so beautiful. She is so beautiful."

"She may never remember," says Finrod. "Even if it is her, she may not remember who she was."

Aegnor visibly deflates. He reaches for another packet of sugar and Finrod reaches out and grasps his wrist gently. "Peace, Aegnor. If she does not come today, she will come tomorrow."

The door of the coffeeshop opens and, with it, a flurry of snow and a slim young woman enters. She is muffled by a scarf and a woolly hat but, even from this corner table, Finrod can see her clear grey eyes. (It is in her eyes.)

"It's bloody freezing out there!" she exclaims as she walks behind the counter and makes her apologies for being late.

Finrod looks at Aegnor who is frozen, gazing across the coffeeshop.

The young woman takes off her layers and ties an apron around her waist. Aegnor does not speak and neither does Finrod. Even Orodreth remains silent, aware that this is a significant moment in someone's history.

Long minutes pass. If Finrod finds them excruciating, he cannot imagine how Aegnor feels. He wonders if he should remind his brother to breathe.

The young woman comes over to their table. "Can I get you anything?" she asks politely. Finrod catches sight of her smiley face name-tag ('Hello, my name is Sophia'). He smiles and points vaguely at a sandwich on the menu. He wonders if Aegnor knows that Sophia means _wisdom._

Sophia turns to Aegnor, her smile slipping slightly. Suddenly uncertain, she coils some of her long brown hair around her fingers. Aegnor is evidently speechless but Sophia is courageous.

"Don't I know you?"

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Happy Christmas to contrariangie! I hope this hits the spot. Peri-Dagorath stories are some of my favourite things and i don't know whether to call this out and out AU or simply future fic...  
> 2\. Many thanks to my glorious Betas, S and Michelle. Any mistakes are entirely my own.  
> 3\. Further thanks to Candis and Chelle for their Finrods. This heavily leans on "Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth" and was further inspired by repeated listening to Howard Shore's 'Lord of the Rings' soundtracks.


End file.
